Poems  and  Hymns 


FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Scctio*        <7<?7/ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/poemshymnsOOgans 


POEMS  AND  HYMNS 


BY 


HERVEY    DODDRIDGE    GANSE 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BY 


REV.  HERRICK  JOHNSON,  D.  D. 


CHICAGO 

Young  Men's  Era  Publishing  Co. 

85  Fifth  Avenue. 


COPYRIGHTED    BY 

EMMA    E.    GANSE, 
1892. 


Gbls  little  volume  of  f)Emns  ano  otber 
verses,  written  curing  a  <3ospel  ministry  of 
nearly  fiftg  sears,  is  publisbeo  bg  bis 
family  as  a  loving  tribute  to  tbe  autbor's 
memory  ano  wltb  gratttuoe  to  <3oo  tor  bis 
life  ano  worn. 


CONTENTS. 


Where  do  the  Flowers  ( '.row  ? 1 1 

My    Mary 12 

The  Aspen 13 

For  An  Album 17 

An    Acrostic 

Patriotic iS 

Impromptu  — For  an  Album 20 

The  Last  Review 21 

Fifty  Years  Ago 22 

To  E 24 

For  the  First  Page  of  an  Album 25 

Ad  Astra 26 

That  Distant  Star   30 

To  Miss  Caroline  May 30 

For  An  Album 32 

Almost  Home 33 

The  Rhone  from  Lyons  to  Valence 35 

Lines  on  My  Mother's  Death 36 

Sonnet — Impromptu 37 

Fontainebleau    38 

A  Dream 39 

To  A  Hawk's  Wing  Feather 41 

Lines  to  Howard  Crosby  on  the  Death  of  His  Father 43 

In  Memoriam 44 

Opening  of  Freehold  Cemetery 47 

Lord's  Day  Evening 49 

When  the  Day  of  Life  is  Dreary.  '. 50 

What  Was  the  Charm  ? 51 

Teach  Thou  Me 59 

Thy  Sword  and  Shield 60 

My  Friend 61 

A  Song  of  Gratitude 62 


CONTENTS. 


Live  for  God, 


HYMNS   WITH    MUSIC. 


63 


A  Prayer ■•      64 

"  Well  Done" 6s 

"  Whom  Having  Not  Seen,  Ye  Love  " 66 

Dedicatory  Hymn          7 

Even  So,  Come,  Lord  Jesus 68 

Home  Mission  Poem 9 

Bartimeus 

The  Holy  Spirit 72 

Hymn   73 

The  Trinity.    ♦ 74 

"Thou  Hearest  the  Sound  Thereof" 74 

Twenty-Third  Psalm « • " 7S 

Elijah 7^ 

Prayer  to  the  Holy  Spirit '  7  • 

The  Temptation 7J 

I  Cling  to  Thee 7b 

Glory  be  to  God  Alone 

To  the  Trinity • *° 

Our  Nation's  God 

By  A  Thousand  Ways  We  Come * 

God's  Plan   ^3 

The  Trinity ^ 

Saviour  and  Sinner 

_,                                                                                                        80 

Security 

Daily  Trust 7 

I  Shall  Not  Want 

Sleep. 9 


9i 


Softly  the  Daylight  Fades 

Father  in  Heaven •  ■ yj 

Well  Done ' '  *     94 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  immortal  hymns  arc-  horn.  While  they  may  show  the  fruit  of 
discipline  and  culture  in  their  rythmic  structure  and  verbal  form,  and 
while,  as  to  relative  properties  of  style  and  methods  of  effective  arrange- 
ment, they  may  be  the  product  of  antecedent  study,  yet  in  their  inner 
substance  and  spirit  they  ate  inspirations.  They  are  births  out  of  emer- 
gent occasions,  heart  struggles,  profound  spiritual  experiences,  heavenly 
communion,  visions  of  God! 

We  are  sure  some  of  the  lyrics  in  this  little  cluster  of  songs,  those 
who  love  Jesus  will  keep  on  singing  while  time  lasts.  Their  author  was 
a  man  of  letters  and  of  logic.  But  neither  letters  nor  logic  could  make 
room  enough  for  his  religious  fervor,  his  deep  spiritual  insight,  his  winged 
imagination.  The  profoundest  depths  of  Christian  experience  he  put  in 
melodious  verse,  and  sang  them  with  heart  and  lips.  And  the  chaste 
diction,  so  deft,  so  apposite,  the  choice  of  words,  the  calm,  sweet  maj- 
esty of  style,  and  the  tenderness,  the  pathos,  the  reverent  devoutness, 
the  humility  and  the  trust  of  these  precious  lyrics,  mark  at  once  the  man 
of  culture  and  the  man  of  God. 

In  addition  to  the  sacred  verse  of  this  singing  heart,  there  are  placed 
in  this  little  volume  a  goodly  company  of  pieces  that  are  the  expression 
of  what  might  be  called  a  lighter  and  more  magnetic  mood.  These,  too, 
will  be  found  exceeding  "pleasant  to  the  taste."  They  reveal  a  delicate 
play  of  fancy,  and  yet  here  and  there  the  stately  tread  of  a  Whittier. 
"The  Aspen"  is  as  blithesome  and  winsome  as  "The  Last  Review"  is 
inspiring  and  full  of  the  breath  of  victory.  The  author  went  to  no  wells 
of  song,  shallow  or  deep,  with  "cracked  pitcher." 

HERRICK   JOHNSON. 


POEMS  and  HYMNS 


PART   I 


PART  1 


WHERE   DO  THE   FLOWERS  GROW? 

Tell  me  sweet  maiden,  I  pray  thee, 

Where  do  the  flowers  grow,  lowly  or  tall, 

Fit  for  a  wreath  to  array  thee, 
For  thou  art  the  sweetest  of  all. 

Flowers,  fair  sir,  grow  wherever  they  will; 

The  tall  ones  on  bushes  are  found, 
Some  in  the  meadow,  and  some  on  the  hill — 

The  lowly  ones  grow  on  the  ground. 

Tell  me  dear  maiden,  in  pity, 

Where  is  a  heart  that  will  love  and  be  true? 
Throbs  it  in  field  or  in  city? 

I'd  give  the  wide  world  if  I  knew. 

Hearts,  gentle  master,  grow  here  and  grow  there; 
Win  them  and  then  they'll  be  true. 
I  heard  of  one  lately,  I  hardly  know  where — 
I'd  search  for  it  if  I  were  vou. 


MY    MARY. 

MY  MARY. 

My  Mary  she  sat  by  the  lonesome  hearth, 

'Twas  late  and  the  coals  were  dead; 
And  she  listened  to  catch 
The  lift  of  the  latch, 

And  she  listened  to  hear  my  tread; 
And  she  crossed  the  floor 
As  I  shut  the  door, 

And  she  took  my  hand  and  said: 
"  Father  is  gone,  and  mother  is  gone, 

And  the  baby  has  left  us,  too; 
And  what  have  I  in  the  empty  world, 

My  darling,  but  only  you?" 

She    had    gathered    her    kerchief    about    her 
head, 
A  shield  from  the  chilly  night; 
And  her  face  so  fair 
And  her  dark  brown  hair, 

Were  bound  in  its  folds  of  white. 
Like  a  pale  face  drest 
For  its  long,  long  rest, 
It  smote  my  guilty  sight. 

For  I  knew  she  was  dying  for  lack  of  love; 

And  I  knew  that  her  lips  spoke  true 
When  she  said,  "  In  all  the  empty  world 
What  have  I  but  only  you?" 


[•HE    ASPEN.  13 

The  folds  of  white  and  the  dark  brown  hair 

From  her  forehead  I  smoothed  away; 
For  a  breath  like  mine 
On  her  lips'  pure  shrine 

I  did  not  dare  to  lay. 
But  I  kissed  her  brow, 
And  I  breathed  a  vow. 

And  I  keep  it  to  this  day ; 
I  said,  "  There  are  angels  that  lead  men's  steps, 

And  an  angel  shall  lead  mine  too. 
And  I'll  cling  to  her  side  till  she  leads  me  to 
heaven, 

For,  my  darling,  I'll  cling  to  you." 


THE  ASPEN. 

Within  a  deep  and  shady  wood 

Of  oak  and  yew, 
A  low  and  grassy  hillock  stood. 

Its  sloping  sides  with  flow7ers  were  drest 
And  from  its  breast 
A  solitary  aspen  grew. 

On  every  side  the  frowning  trees 
Stood  dark  and  still;  but  overhead 
The  blue  and  smiling  heavens  were  spread 

And  everv  breeze 


*4  THE    ASPEN. 

That  posted  thro'  the  open  sky, 

Stooped  to  the  hill  where  the  aspen  grew 
And  kissed  the  tree  as  it  hurried  by; 

And  the  evening  dew, 
And  the  shadow  of  every  drifting  cloud, 
And  the  pattering  rain,  and  the  tempest  loud, 
And  the  sun's  warm  light, 
And  every  ray  of  the  silent  night, 
All  came  and  greeted  the  lonely  tree, 
Till  it  trembled  and  danced  with  ecstasy. 

The  aspen  danced;  but  all  around 
The  dark  and  silent  forest  frowned. 
And  the  grass  upon  the  sloping  hill, 
And  the  very  flowers  lay  cold  and  still. 
And  when  it  told  in  whispering  tones 

The  bursting  joy  it  could  not  hide, 

The  sullen  woods  alone  replied 
In  melancholy  moans. 
And  often  in  the  silent  night, 
When  the  loving  stars  were  shining  bright, 
It  wished  for  friends  in  that  distant  throng, 
And  it  beckoned  and  called  as  they  rolled  along; 
But  its  voice  was  low,  and  they  could  not  hear, 
And  the  stars  rolled  on  in  their  distant  sphere. 

At  length,  when  drowsy  winter  crept 
Over  the  earth,  the  aspen  slept. 


1  111     ASP!  N.  15 

'Twas  a  painful  sleep,  for  the  lonely  tree 

Sighed  wearily 

As  its  branches  bare 

Were  tossed  and  swayed 
In  the  dusk  and  frozen  air. 

But  it  woke  with  the  first  warm  breath  of  May; 

And,  lo:  beneath  its  shelt'ring  shade, 
A  fountain  sprang; 

And  swelling  o'er  its  mossy  rim, 

The  flashing  waters  stole  away 

And,  hid  beneath  the  flowers,  sang 

Their  happy  hymn. 

The  charmed  tree  stood  hushed  and  still, 
And  listened  to  the  singing  rill. 
And  bending  o'er  the  fountain's  side, 
It  watched  the  deep  and  constant  tide 

That  bubbled  from  its  bed  of  snow; 

When  suddenly,  far,  far  below 
Opened  the  blue  and  peaceful  sky, 
With  white  clouds  floating  slowly  by 
The  silver  sun,  that  lay  at  rest 
Deep  within  its  hollow  breast; 
And  birds  and  painted  butterflies 

Were  playing  in  his  softened  ray; 

And    flowers   that    fringed    the    fountain's 
side, 


j 5  THE    ASPEN. 

And  bent  their  modest  heads  to  hide 
From  the  staring  day, 
Looked  out  from  its  breast  with  laughing  eyes. 

And  when  the  sun 

Had  slowly  faded  from  the  west, 
And  the  stars  came,  one  by  one, 

Twinkling  thro'  the  dewy  air, 
The  tree  still  watched  the  fountain's  breast, 

And  the  stars  were  there. 

Then,  one  by  one,  and  timidly, 
The  happy  leaves  began  to  sing; 

And  every  trembling  leaf  could  see 
Its  image  trembling  in  the  spring. 

Then  a  bolder  dance  they  tried; 

They  waved,  and  leaped,  and  whirled,  and  tost 
Till  every  trembling  leaf  was  lost 

In  brisk  and  dazzling  play; 

Still  the  mimic  leaves  replied, 

In  dance  as  merrily  as  they. 

Thus  evermore  by  night  and  day, 
The  fountain  and  the  happy  tree 

Together  sang, 

Till  the  very  forest  rang 
With  their  melody. 


\\     \i  BUM.  17 

For,  on  and  on,  by  (lay  and  night, 
The  waters  bubbled  clear  and  bright 

From  their  hollow  bed  of  snow; 

And  the  aspen  watched  their  ceaseless  low, 
And  saw  its  green  leaves  frolicking 

In  the  crystal  depth  below. 
And  to  its  sight 

Its  own  green  leaves  were  fairer  far 
When  mirrored  by  the  friendly  spring, 
And  the  bright  sun  shone  with  kinder  light, 
And  every  star  looked  loveliest, 
When  glowing  in  its  peaceful  breast; 
And    the   spreading    heavens    were    not    so    fair 
As     the    sweet     blue    heaven     that    slumbered 
there. 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

Had  I  a  pen  whose  point  of  light 
Could  reach  thine  inmost  soul,  and  write 
One  word  to  stand  eternally, 
What  should  that  sacred  record  be  ? 

'Twere  vain  to  ask:  my  feeble  art 
Can  make  no  record  on  thy  heart. 
May  God  that  deathless  page  prepare, 
And  write  the  name  of  Jesus  there. 


xg  AN    ACROSTIC. 

AN  ACROSTIC. 

(Rev    Howard  Crosby,  D.  D.) 

How  should  a  man  be  made — 

Of  what  choice  parts  compounded  ? 

With  skill  of  schools  how  well  arrayed, 

And  with  what  graces  rounded? 

Reveal  some  princely  nature,  strong  and  just, 

Divinely  ripened,  for  the  poor  to  trust. 

Courage,  that  fears  not  man  nor  devil; 

Revolts  at  all  enthroned  evil; 

Outright  resolve,  that  won't  be  routed; 

Sincerity  that  can't   be  doubted. 

Back    all    this    strength  with   love    divine    and 

human, 
Yet  keep  your  Great  Heart  tender  as  a  woman. 


PATRIOTIC. 

When  Freedom  of  old  sought  her  children,  she  traced 

them, 

By  footprints  of  blood  to  their  caves  in  the  rock; 

Till   God   found  them  a  home  where  the  foe  could  not 

waste  them, 

And  through  the  cleft  sea  led  her  sons  like  a  flock. 

She  called  them  from  vinelands  and  slopes  of  the  heather, 


p  \  mil  1 1  re.  19 

From  England's  white  cliffs,  and  from  Holland's  low 
plains ; 
Sec  where  she  beckons  them-!  see  how  they  gather! 

One  name  on  their  foreheads,  one  pulse  in  their  veins. 

God  gave  us  no  islands  with  waves  to  divide  them; 

\     patches  of  green  amid  deserts  of  sand; 
\       bleak    barren    uplands,    with    snow-fields    to    hide 
them ; 

God  made  us  a  nation,  and  gave  us  a  land. 
Her  mountains  are  storehouses  bursting  with  treasure; 

Her  prairies  are  seas  and  her  harvests  their  spray; 
The  scope  of  a  continent  stands  for  her  measure; 

All  lands  are  her  neighbors,  all  oceans  her  way. 

We've  a  league  with  the  seas;  we've  a  league  with  the 
mountains; 

The  stars  in  their  courses  our  allies  shall  be! 
Till  our  loud-plunging  floods  shall   turn  back   to  their 
fountains, 

They  thunder  forever:  "  This  land  shall  be  free!" 
'Tis  writ  in  its  soil,  in  the  loops  of  the  river, 

The  trend  of  the  mountains,  the  line  of  the  sea; 
And  trenches  and  earthworks  have  graved  it  forever, 

In  blood  is  it  written,  "This  land  shall  be  free." 

Repeat  it  ye  people,  with  shouts  and  hosannas; 
With  trumpet  and  organ-peal  sound  it  on  high 


20  IMPROMPTU    FOR    AN    ALBUM. 

Ring  it  out,  ye  keen  bells,  and  ye  restless  gay  banners, 
Like  tripping  tongues  tell  it  to  all  the  wide  sky' 

Now,  proud  like  a  mother  her  sons  all  around  her. 
Fair  Freedom  sits  down,  in  the  land  she  has  won ; 

With  a  garland  of  stars  her  glad  children  have  crowned 
her, 
Our  smooth  sloping  hills  are  her  emerald  throne. 

As   she   bends  her    fond    head   o'er    the    heroes    whose 
ashes 

Are  slumbering  in  glory  beneath  her  green  sod, 
The  crown  on  her  brow  like  a  beacon-light  flashes, 

To  guide  the  far  nations  to  her  and  to  God! 


IMPROMPTU— FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

Most  writers  in  albums  their  kindness  display 
By  invoking  all  bliss  on  the  fair  lady's  head. 

For  heaven's  most  bountiful  blessings  they  pray, 
And  a  husband  to  boot,  if  she  chooses  to  wed. 

But   my   thoughts   are   just   now   on   my    own    happy 
life. 

Will  you  say  I  am  selfish?    Perhaps  it  is  true. 
But  my  wish  is  just  this:   when  I  get  me  a  wife, 

May  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  get  one  like  you 


rHE    LAST    REVIEW.  _M 

rHE  last  ki;\  m;\\ 

( Washington,  i  - 

Their  banners  arc  shreds,  but  their  weapons  are  bright; 

And  true  is  the  tread  of  their  travel-stained  feet. 
Like  a  torrent  that  rests  from  its  plunges  of  might, 

Flows  on  the  broad  tide  through  the  murmuring  street. 

Long  ranks  upon  ranks,  still  they  come  and  they  come. 

1  dream!    'Tis  a  vision  of  armies  goes  by! 
Faint  and  far  sounds  the  clangor  of  trumpet  and  drum; 

Faint  and  far  sounds  their  tread,  though  the  vision  is 
nigh. 

With  their  steadfast  bronze  faces  they're  marching  right 
on ; 

With  their  steadfast  grave  eyes  they  are  looking  afar. 
Each  head  wears  a  glory,  as  kings  wear  a  crown — 

Every  point  of  a  bayonet  gleams  with  a  star. 

Like  the  smoke  of  a  sacrifice  ruddy  with  flames, 

A  cloud  floats  above  them  through  all  their  long  way. 

It  flashes  and  gleams  with  the  deathless  great  names 
Of  the  fields  they  have  won  in  the  terrible  fray. 

Their  glory  enfolds  them.      They  pass  from  my  sight. 

But  a  pillar  of  flame  marks  the  way  they  have  gone. 
It  lessens;  'tis  lost;  but  I  know  by  the  light 

On  the  far  distant  sky,  they  are  marching  right  on. 


FIFTY    YEARS    AGO. 

The  seas  shall  not  stop  them.    The  mountains  flow  down. 

Far  islands  await  them,  and  uttermost  coasts; 
For  the  captain  that  leads  them  is  crowned  with  a  crown, 

And  the  name  on  his  thigh  is  Jehovah  of  Hosts. 

They  have  left  the  torn  ensigns  they  brought   from  the 
field. 

Bright  gleams  his  red  cross  on  their  banner  of  snow. 
His  name  is  emblazoned  on  helmet  and  shield, 

And  the  shout  of  his  triumph  they  raise  as  they  go. 

There's  a  sound  of  their  going  borne  far  on  the  air, 
The  solid  earth  throbs  with  the  pulse  of  their  tread. 

The  lowly  have  caught  it  with  blessing  and  prayer— 
The  tyrants  have  caught  it  with  wonder  and  dread. 

To  your  ranks  all  ye  nations!   Great  Captain,  lead  on! 

Lo,  chains  are  but  tow.  at  the  touch  of  thy  sword! 
They  answer;  they  rally;  they  fight;  they  have  won! 

For  the  cause  of  the  poor  is  the  cause  of  the  Lord. 


FIFTY  YEARS  AGO. 

To  my  dear  Friend  Rev.  Dr.  E.  P.  Rogers,  on  his  Jist   birthday, 
Dec.  iS,  i8b8. 

In  tropic  isles,  which  evermore  are  teeming 

With  the  bright  products  of  the  changeless  year, 

On  the  same  bough  midst  burnished  foliage  gleaming, 
The  golden  fruit  and  snowy  buds  appear. 


FIF  l  \     Yl  ARS     \  2} 

So  love,  which  years  have  ripened,  but  not  wasted, 

Ami  youth,  just  tinged  with  light  of  days  to  come, 
Ami  childhood,  wondering  over  life  untasted, 

Their  wealth  unite  to  make  a  Christian  home. 

Hut  burning  day  glows  through  those  tropic  bowers; 

And  evening  wets  them  with  her  tears  of   dew. 
The  ripe  fruit  falls,  and  still  the  opening  flowers 

Through  the  long  year  the  endless  round  renew. 

W "here  is  the  love  that  doted  o'er  our  slumbers 
When  baby  ringlets  on  our  pillows  lay? 

Where  are  the  voices,  which  in  holy  numbers, 
First  taught  our  lisping  childhood  how  to  pray? 

(fathered  like  fruit;  gathered  and  safe  before  us; 

Far  from  the  touch  of  change  and  mortal  woe—' 
More  safe  in  God,  than  in  the  love  they  bore  us 

When  they    were  with  us  fifty  years  ago. 

Still  joy  lives  on,  our  ripening  lives  adorning 

With  buds  that  brighten,  though  our  bloom  depart. 

Love  wreathes  her  brow  with    flowers    in   hope's   fond 
morning; 
Richer  at  noon  she  wears  them  round  her  heart. 

So  love  enfolds  us,  till  some  breath  of  even 
Kisses  the  laden  bough  and  lays  us  low. 

Then  children's  children  pointing  up  to  heaven, 
Bless  those  who  loved  them  fifty  years  ago. 


24  TO    E 

TO   E 

September,  1S51. 

I've  given  my  heart  to  thee,  love, 

Then  give  thy  heart  to  me: 
And  I'll  lodge  the  treasure  safely 

Where  my  heart  used  to  be. 
Deep,  deep  within  my  bosom 

It  shall  beat  for  me  alone; 
And  as  I  feel  it  beating  there, 

I'll  think  it  is  my  own. 

'Twill  beat  with  sweeter  thoughts  than  mine, 

'Twill  beat  with  brighter  joy, 
And  faithful  love,  which  time  nor  care 

Nor  death  can  e'er  destroy. 
But  it  beats  within  my  bosom, 

And  it  beats  for  me  alone; 
And  as  I  feel  it  beating  there, 

I'll  think  it  is  my  own. 

If  sorrow  like  a  cloud,  love, 

Shall  settle  on  my  head ; 
And  all  my  strength  be  wasted, 

And  all  my  hopes  lie  dead; 
Then  strong  and  high  shall  beat  the  heart 

That  beats  for  me  alone, 
And  as  I  feel  it  beating 

I'll  think  it  is  my  own. 


for     riu:    FIRST    PAGE    "1      W     \l  IH'M. 

If  the  wricked  world  should  tempt  me 

With  its  by-paths  smooth  and  fair, 
And  my  foolish  feet  be  ready 

To  be  taken  in  the  snare; 
Then  true  and  pure  shall  beat  the  heart 

That  beats  for  me  alone, 
And  as  I  feel  its  holy  throb, 

I'll  think  it  is  my  own. 

Then  give  thy  heart  to  me,  love, 

For  I've  given  mine  to  thee; 
And  let  it  bring  me  joy  and  hope, 

And  strength  and  piety: 
For  while  I  feel  its  steadfast  pulse 

That  beats  for  me  alone, 
I  shall  know  it  is  an  angel's, 

But  shall  heed  it  for  my  own. 


FOR  THE   FIRST   PAGE  OF  AN  ALBUM. 

Over  these  tinted  album  leaves,    • 
Ruddy  and  white, 

Fain  would  I  pour  a  golden  glow 
Like  morning  light, 
Or  like  those  rays  which  evening  weaves 

Into  her  glittering  bow. 
And  on  thy  fair  young  brow  I'd  shed 


26  AD    ASTRA. 

The  blessed  beam, 
A  crown  of  glory  for  thy  head. 

And  on  that  stream 
Of  swift  and  changeful  maiden  thought, 

That  sings  and  dances  through  thy  breast, 
With  hopes  like  fairy  barges  fraught, 

The  heavenly  radiance  should  rest. 
I  know  the  spell;  no  chemist's  art, 

No  wizard  with  his  magic  rod, 

Can  charm  that  glory  from  the  skies. 
The  vision  waits  for  meeker  eyes; 
Write  on  the  page,  and  on  thy  heart, 

"  Sacred  to  God." 


AD  ASTRA. 

There  are,  who  wonder  whether,  in  the  flight 
Which  gracious  beings  make  from  star  to  star, 
They  pause  to  mark  our  dim  and  distant  earth, 
And  speak  with  pity  of  the  feeble  folk 
Who  dream  their  empty  dreams  of  after  life, 
Build  temples  for  a  host  of  warring  creeds, 
And  die;  and  with  their  corporal  substance  lose 
All  individual  thought  and  memory. 

But  what  sad  echo  from  that  height  of  stars 
Started  this  dream  of  heaven's  contempt  of  man? 
I've  stood  at  midnight  when  the  world  was  still; 


ID   ASTRA.  2  7 

Nor  cricket's  chirp  nor  rustling  breath  of  trees 

Marred  the  vast  stillness  of  the  steadfast  stars. 

Then  with  my  soul  I've  swept  those  silent  depths, 

That  deeper  grew,  still,  as  I  soared  within  them. 

The  glittering  points  strewn  on  the  face  of  heaven 

Rounded  to  worlds  immense,  receding  far 

In  mighty  ponderous  flight  through  separate  spheres, 

Each  wide  enough  to  gird  a  universe. 

Yet,  as  one  wind  breathes  o'er  the  clustering  heads 

Of  the  white  rye  upon  a  harvest  field, 

So  my  strong  soul,  nor  timid  nor  elate, 

Breathed  through  those  hosts    of    worlds,  and  filled 

the  voids 
Betwixt  the  sundered  orbs  with  human  thought, 
Harmonious  as  praise. 

Then  had  I  seen, 
Though  far  as  Sirius,  a  shining  train 
Of  seraphs  errant  on  the  work  of  God, 
I  would  have  hailed  them  with  a  brother's  speech — 
I  hail  them  now — though  not  with  sigh  or  voice; 
Spirit  to  spirit  speaks:   "  Hail,  sons  of  God! 
Who,  mightier  than  we,  can  serve  Him  more, 
Yet  are  no  more  His  sons." 

Who  hears  their  sighs 
Of  taunting  pity  sifting  through  the  air? 
Who  hears  them  tell  us  that  our  dying  flesh 
Measures  our  greatness  and  predicts  our  end? 
Or  that,  because  our  bodies  soon  must  fail, 


2  8  AD    ASTRA. 

Our  separate  souls,  distinct  and  keen  as  theirs, 

Must  lose  their  individual   hold  of  thought 

And  merge  in  undistinguishable  being? 

When  dropped  that  dismal  gospel   from  the  sky? 

Then  who,  the  words  unheard,  shall  claim  the  power 

To  read  them  on  the  far  unlettered  scroll 

Of  seraph's  heart;  yet,  while  he  reads,  confess 

That  to  the  nature  which  he  scans  so  well 

He  stands  compared  as  do  the  beasts  to  men  ? 

The  beast  that  guesses  what  a  man  can  think 

Is  beast  no  more,  but  fellow  of  the  man. 

And  when  a  human  seer  takes  his  flight 

To  farthest  heaven,  only  to  bring  back 

Heaven's  hypothetic  scorn  of  human  beasts, 

I  wonder  much  at  that  strange,  bestial  flight — 

That  mighty  argument  for  impotence. 

Yet  who  shall  tell  ?     May  not  the  guess  be  true, 
Since  knowledge  of  eternal  things  to  man 
Is  unrevealed,  and  at  the  best  but  breathes 
Through  things  created;  may  not  words  like  these 
Oft  fall  from  seraph  lips?     Alas  who  knows? 
1  know — "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives." 
I  ask  no  doubtful  whisper  from  the  stars. 
The  round  green  earth  that  hangs  amidst  their  light, 
And  gathers  influence  from  all  the  sky, 
To  warm  and  feed  my  weak  and  wasting  frame, 
Has  drunk  a  promise  from  the  upper  heaven, 
And  keeps  it  for  her  sons.      Not  from  her  fields 


ID    ASTRA.  29 

Vivid  with  verdure,  nor  from  stately  lulls 

Nfor  whispering  streams,   she   speaks. that  treasured 

word. 
But  when  men  die,  and  to  her  friendly  breast 

She  takes  their  dust,  then  through   the  opened   grave 
Steals  forth  the  deathless  cadence  of  that  song 
Which  Christ  the  victor  sang  among  the  dead: 
11  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life; 
He  that  believes  in  me  shall  never  die." 

So  in  the  midnight  when  the  world   is  still, 
And    my  rapt  soul  sweeps  through  the  teeming  stars 
Straight  to  God's  throne,  I  will  not  ask  nor  brook 
Pity  nor  scorn,  though  from  a  seraph's  lips. 
My  conscious  spirit  shall  converse  with  God, 
My  dying  flesh  draw  comfort  from  its  tomb, 
And  answering  echoes  from  the  earth  and  sky 
Meet   in  the  air  where  my  dear  Lord  shall  come. 
Hark!   how  the  heavens  grow  silvery  with  song; 
The  dark  sky  kindles  into  bloom  of  light. 
It  is  God's  host.      See  where  the  Prince  of  Life 
Rears  his  near  throne  amid  their  glittering  ranks. 
He  speaks  the  word;  and  the  dark  rolling  earth 
Bursts  into  radiant   life.      In  ranks  as  bright 
As  heaven   itself  has  poured  through  gates  of  pearl, 
Break  from  their  tombs  the  hidden  sons  of  God. 
Joy  answers  joy.      The  nearing  anthems  blend; 
Seraphs  and  men  meet  at  the  throne  of  Christ; 
And  death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory. 


3° 


THAT    DISTANT    STAR. 

THAT  DISTANT  STAR. 

That  distant  star, 
That  glows  and  sparkles  all  the  livelong  night, 

And  throws  its  trembling  beams  so  far 
On  mortal  sight; 

How  can  it  guess 
How  many  upturned  eyes  delighted  gaze 

Upon  its  loveliness,  and  bless 
The  pure  bright  rays? 

A  planet  bright 
Art  thou,  my  dearest,  to  my  raptured  eyes. 

How  shall  I  woo  the  approachless  light 
Set  in  the  skies? 

Too  far  removed 
From  its  blest  seat,  unheeded  I  complain, 

And  learn  that  when  a  star  is  loved, 
'Tis  loved  in  vain. 


TO  MISS   CAROLINE   MAY. 

On  Her  Birthday,  1869. 

I've  heard  a  story  of  the  days  gone  by, 

Of  days,  dear  friend,  which  you  cannot  remember, 

How  once  the  English  year  went  quite  awry, 

And  lovely  May  was  born  amid  the  cold  December. 


rO    MISS    l    PROLINE    MAN.  31 

Not  in  the  wintry  sky  nor  sullen  air, 

Nor  o'er  the  fields  where  bitter  blasts  were  blowing, 
But   in  one  home  appeared  the  vision  fair. 

Where  Christmas  holly  shone,  and  Christmas  fires  were 
glowing. 

'Twas  but  a  gleam — a  breath — an  infant  life. 

So  Spring  wakes  ever  in  this  world  of  sadness, 
But  grows  apace  amid  the  wintry  strife, 

And    wins  the  day  at  last,    and    fills    the   world    with 
gladness. 

So  through  its  little  world  this  young  life  spread. 

Shot  through  with  light,  with  bird-like  voices  ringing, 

A  fragrant  presence  as  of  odors  shed 

On  April  winds  at  eve,  where  violets  are  springing. 

What  binds  the  odors  to  the  fitful  air? 

What  schools  the  giddy  birds  in  strains  of  heaven? 
What  stores  in  one  true  soul  that  power  so  rare, 

Of  healing  with  its  balm  the  hearts  which  grief  has  riven  ? 

Hail,  love  divine!  which  tints  each  common  thing 

With  some  bright  ray  from  heaven's  wide  open  portal; 

Which  rolls  the  senseless  earth  through  zones  of  spring, 
And  wakes  in  fields  and  woods  a  gleam  of  life  immortal. 

But  woods  nor  fields  could  drink  that  brighter  flood, 
Which  fell  of  old  when  wintry  night  was  clinging 


32  FOR    AN    ALBUM. 

To  the  cold  ground  whereon  the  angel  stood; 

And  bird  and  leaf  were  still,  but  seraphim  were  singing. 

And  still  the  earth  that  yearly  rolls  along 

Its   wintry  track,  sweeps  through  that  flood  of  glory, 
And  eyes  attentive  see  the  myriad  throng, 

And  falls  on  ears  attuned,  .the  sweet  angelic  story. 

Oh,  happy  babe!  to  whose  astonished  ears 

The  Christmas  air  with  angel  songs  is  loaded, 

That  drinks  its  fill  of  heaven,  before  it  hears 

The  sobs  of  mortal  hearts,  by  mortal   sorrow  goaded. 

Oh,  happy  life!  that  kindles  in  the  glow, 
Catching  the  skill  to  souls  angelic  given, 

To  gild  the  tears  of  sorrow  while  they  flow; 

To   cheer    the   sad   with    love,   and  light  the  loved  to 
heaven.  

FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

If  I  should  praise 
The  hues  of  health  upon  thy  features  blending, 
And  all  the  bright  and  winning  charms 
On  youth  attending; 

The  flattering  verse 
Should  stand  ere  long  upon  its  yellow  page, 


\l  M<  >S  i      IIOMI  . 

Outlasting  charms  decayed  and  l< 

In  wrinkled  age; 

But  let  me  write 

A  fairer  record  that  shall  ne'er  grow  old; 
And  let  God  write  it  in  11  is  book, 
In  lines  of  gold : 

"Washed  in  Christ's  blood, 
She  steadfast  keeps  the  holy  path  He  trod, 
And  counts  it  for  her  crown  to  be 
A  child  of  God." 


33 


ALMOST   HOME. 
amship  Canada,  between    Halifax   and  Boston,    October,  1S60. 

Twelve  weary  days  our  laboring  prow 

Has  borne  the  buffets  of  the  gale. 
But  all  the  winds  are  sleeping  now; 
On  through  the  silent  sea  we  plow, 

While  darkness  wraps  us  like  a  veil. 
Haste,  sluggish  ship!      Haste,  lingering  day! 

When  will  the  tedious  night  be  o'er? 
To-morrow  in  the  land-locked  bay 

Our  keel  shall   kiss  our  native  shore. 
To-morrow  in  my  own  dear  home 

I  see  my  precious  ones  again; 


34 


ALMOST    HOME. 

The  bursting  hearts  around  me  come 

And  tears  of  joy  are  shed  like  rain. 
Ah!  tears  of  joy?  what  other  tears 

May  pour  along  my  blanched  cheek  ? 
Hope  dreams  of  home.      But  trooping  fears 

Warn  me  of  ills  I  dare  not  speak. 
In  vain  I  strain  my  eager  sight 

That  hidden  future  to  descry ; 
Like  yonder  coast  enwrapped  in  night 
That  shapeless  shore  eludes  my  eye. 
God  of  the  sea  and  of  the  land, 

Darkness  to  thee  is  like  the  day, 
I  trust  my  darlings  to  Thy  hand, 

I  trust  to  Thee  my  homeward  way. 
Go  with  me  still;   Thy  love  alone 

Has  all  these  priceless  gifts  conferred, 
Go  with  me  still;  and  ills  unknown 

Shall   turn  to  blessings  at  Thy  word. 
Ah,  when  life's  boisterous  voyage  shall  end, 
Calm  Thou  that  night,  so  dread,  so  dark, 
Make  brightening  skies  before  me  bend, 

And  moor  in  heaven  my  long-tossed  bark. 
No  darkness  veils  that  home  of  light, 

Nor  fears,  like  specters,  keep  the  way. 
With  open  gate  and  throngs  in  white, 
It  gleams  across  the  frowning  night; 

It  turns  the  darkness  into  day. 
It  paves  with  gold  the  placid  sea; 


THE    RHONE    FROM    LYONS     ["0    VALENCE.  35 

It  makes  a  path  from  them  to  me; 

With  outstretched  arms  they  haste  to  meet  me, 

With    well-known  tones   they  bend    to  greet   me. 

All  hail  my  kindred !   hail  my  home! 

Now  backward  wheel  your  guiding  flight, 
My  prow  shall  cleave  the  path  of   light. 

Before  it  breaks  the  golden  foam: 
The  far  gates  grow  upon  my  sight. 

Haste,  bounding  bark!      The  day  dawns  fast, 

The  last  bright  league  shall  soon  be  past, 

Then  sleep  ye  winds  forevermore, 

Farewell,  rough  sea!      Hail,  shining  shore! 


THE   RHONE  FROM  LYONS  TO  VALENCE. 
July,   i860. 

Thou  restless  river,  in  thy  changeful  face 
Sleeps  no  fair  vision  of  the  vine-clad  hill. 
Thy  busy  waters  ply  the  useful  mill; 
But  miller's  maid  ne'er  bent  with  girlish  grace 
And  asked  thy  vacant  wave  her  charms  to  trace. 
Ye  turbid  waters!  ye  have  drunk  your  fill 
Of  matchless  splendors.      Did  ye  not  distill 
From  spotless  snows  near  God's  own  dwelling-place? 
Have  ye  not  glittered  on  the  rock's  high  head, 
And  leaped  in  rainbows  down  the  long  cascade? 
Thy  face  of  pearl,  dull  stream  hath  sealed  up 
Those  opal  splendors,  safe  from  earthly  taint. 


36  LINES    ON    MY    MOTHER'S    DEATH. 

So  guard  thy  holy  joys,  contented  saint, 

And  bear  midst  pitying  men,  thine  own  full  cup. 


LINES  ON   MY  MOTHER'S  DEATH. 
1869. 

Now  whilst  Thy  hand  is  on  me,  oh,  my  God, 

Keep  common  thoughts  apart; 
Let  the  full  meaning  of  Thy  heavy  rod 

Sink  in  my  inmost  heart. 

I  will  not  give  my  eyes  to  dainty  sights, 

Nor  lips  to  dainty  food; 
Disdain,  thou  heaven-taught  soul,  these  near 

delights, 
And  make  thy  God  thy  good. 

Into  Thy  secret  place,  oh  God,  I  come 

Awe-struck,  but  not  afraid; 
My  straying  soul  shall  find  itself  at  home 
Within  that  solemn  shade. 

No  worldly  glare  nor  gloom  assails  my  eyes 

In  that  serene  abode; 
The  far-off  noise  of  worldly  tumult  dies; 

I  hide  myself  in  God. 

Oh  Jesus,  Saviour,  who,  from  all  our  gloom 
Of  mortal  sin  and  strife, 


SONNET — IMPROMF  I  '  .  37 

Didst  pierce  a  doorway  through  the  rocky  tomb 
Straight  into  endless  life; 

Hold  Thou  my  hand;  I  tread  that  rugged  floor 

With  these  weak  feet  of  clay: 
My  dead  I  follow,  where  they  walk  before 

Into  eternal  day. 

Set  angel  guards  behind  me.      Roll  the  stone 

To  shut  my  spirit  in  ; 
Till  I  walk  forth  new-made,  and  not  alone, 

Xor  lose  what  I  have  seen. 

The  luster  of  Thy  risen  presence,  Lord, 

Shall  be  my  daily  light; 
The  daily  hope  of  Thy  approving  word 

Shall  guide  my  steps  like  sight. 

Grant  me  the  comforts  of  a  soul  forgiven, 

And  wisdom,  Lord,  to  see 
How  mortal  man  lives  on  the  verge  of  heaven 

By  living  unto  Thee. 


SONNET— IMPROMPTU. 

On  visiting  the  grave  0/  Gray,  Stoke  Pogis,  June  22,  iSbo. 

Do  those  great  souls  that  thronged  the  mighty  past 
Still  tread  unseen  the  paths  they  trod  before? 
Where  Godlike  voices  woke  the  world  of  yore, 

Are  deathless  echoes  borne  on  every  blast? 


38  FONTAINEBLEAU. 

Ye  spreading  yews,  from  out  your  bosoms  vast 

Unearthly  whispers  on  my  spirit  pour. 

I  stand  beneath  your  shade,  ye  turrets  hoar; 
But  deeper  shadows  on  my  soul  are  cast. 
Nor  trees,  nor  grassy  mounds,  nor  ivied  tower 

Could  wake  my  pulses  with  this  vital  thrill. 
The  conscious  scene  enshrines  that  soul  of  power; 

The  heaven-lit  presence  lingers  in  it  still. 
With  breathless  lips  I  sit,  and  bended  head, 
And  feel  my  spirit  quickened  by  the  living  dead. 


FONTAINEBLEAU. 

I've  seen  the  halls  where  kings  and  queens  have  walked. 
The  gilded  beds  where  royalty  has  lain 
With  aching  heads,  that  wooed  sweet  sleep  in  vain; 

The  council  rooms  where  emperors  have  talked, 

Where  keen  eyed  plotters  have  been  keenly  balked. 
I've  seen  the  grassy  path  the  deer  have  ta'en 
Through  leafy  arches  toward  the  glassy  plain, 

Whose  friendly  waves  the  deep-mouthed  pack  have  mocked. 
Gone  is  the  brilliant  rout,  the  deer,  the  hound. 

The  wakeful    brain   oppressed   with  mighty   thought, 
The  gentle  breast  with  keenest  wrongs  distraught, 

In   sculptured    tombs  their  last  long  sleep    have    found. 
Dead  splendors!     Silence  shrouds  you  like  a  pall, 
My  homely  fireside  far  outshines  you  all. 


A    DREAM.  yj 

A   DREAM. 

Once  in  my  life  I  had  a  dream 

That  made  my  heart  with  rapture  thrill; 
Too  soon  it  lied;  but  in  my  heart 
The  rapture  lingers  still. 

often;  on  my  waking  hours. 
The  memory  of  that  vision  bright 
Has  flashed,  like  sunshine  on  a  wave, 
With   momentary  light. 

But  yesternight  I  sweetly  slept, 

And  dreamt  the  whole  bright  vision  o'er, 
And  even  in  my  sleep  I  knew 

I'd  dreamt  it  all  before. 

The  same  sweet  face  came  back  again, 
The  same  soft  hand  in  mine  was  laid, 

And  onward  through  the  self  same  path 
With  lingering  feet  we  strayed. 

And  all  along  our  path  I  saw 

The  same  bright  flowers  I'd  seen  before; 
With  lingering  feet  we  strayed  and  bent 

To  gather  them  once  more. 

And  soon  with  loaded  hands  we  paused 

Beside  an  old  and  mossy  stone, 
A  mossy  stone  that  'mid  the  trees 

Stood  altar-like,  alone. 


40  A    DREAM. 

Above  its  head  the  aged  elms 

Their  high  and  pointed  arches  reared. 

And  far  along  the  broad  green  aisle, 
Their  lessening  trunks  appeared. 

And  all  along  the  grassy  aisle, 
And  on  the  old  and  mossy  stone, 

And  on  our  mingled  flowers,  the  sun 
In  setting  splendor  shone. 

It  shone  upon  the  maiden's  cheek, 

It  tinged  with  gold  her  brow  of  snow, 

And  on  her  bright  and  clustering  hair 
I  saw  the  kindling  glow. 

And  when  I  sought  the  loveliest  flowers, 
And  when,  with  beating  heart,  I  bore 

A  garland  to  her  brow,  I  knew 
I'd  dreamt  it  all  before. 

With  glowing  cheeks  she  turned  away, 
With  ready  skill  a  wreath  she  made, 

And  on  my  head,  with  faltering  hand, 
The  blushing  flowers  she  laid. 

I  marked  with  joy  her  glowing  cheek, 
I  saw  her  eyes  with  teardrops  fill; 

And  in  my  sleep  I  never  knew, 
That  I  was  dreaming  still. 


rO    A    HAWK  S   WING    FEATHER.  J  I 

I  thought  my  early  hope  was  gained, 
My  precious  hope  that  long  had  slept, 

And  in  my  new  found  ecstasy, 
1  bent  my  head  and  wept. 

Again  the  vision  lied,  but  now 

The  lovely  face  and  form  remain, 
And  oft  my  heart  shall  start  and  thrill 

To  see  that  face  again. 

But  ah  !  that  look  of  trusting  love, 
That  beaming  look  in  vain  I  seek; 

The  vision  fled,  and  only  left 
The  tears  upon  my  cheek. 


TO  A  HAWK'S  WING-FEATHER. 

That  tireless  wing!   Where  floats  it   now 
That  lost  thee  on  the  mountain's  brow? 
The  piercing  eye  and  cruel  beak ! 
Where  do  they  seek 
Their  hapless  prey  the  whispering  pines  among, 
Whilst   thou   like   autumn    leaf  to  autumn  leaves 
art  flung  ? 
Leave  to  them  the  dizzy  air. 

And  the  peaks  where  lightnings  play, 
Set  thy  blade  of  mottled  grey 
In  a  maiden's  clustering  hair. 


42  TO    A     HAWK  S    WING    FEATHER. 

Mind  her  of  all  things  pure  and  high, — 
Sunlit  cliff  and  boundless  sky, 
Fleecy  clouds  that  veil  the  heaven, 
Rosy  tints  of  morn  and  even. 

Bring  her  visions  all  the  day 
Of  the  dim  and  dizzy  steep, 
Where  the  threads  of  water  leap, 

Wreathed  in  folds  of  rainbow  spray. 
Woodland  echoes  faint  but  clear 
Whisper  in  her  charmed  ear, 
Chirp  of  bird,  and  hum  of  bees. 
And  the  low  murmur  of  the  swaying  trees. 

But  graft  thee  for  thy  highest  flight, 
In  her  fancy's  wing  of  light; 

For  feathered  pinion  never  knew 

Half  the  height  that  fancy  scales. 

Swift  she  cleaves  the  vault  of  blue; 

Cliffs  and  clouds  beneath  her  lie 

Level  with  the  lowest  vales; 

While  with  easy  flight  she  sails 

Through  the  bright  islands  of  the  sky, 

And  scans  creation  to  its  utmost  shores; 

Nor  checks  her  daring  flight,  nor  veils  her  eye 

Till   at   God's  throne  she  wonders  and  adores. 
Thither   let  hills   and   woods   and   birds   of    every 

wing 
And  all  created  souls  their  endless  homage  bring. 


LINES    rO   H'  >w  \KI>  <  ROSBY.  43 

LINES  TO  HOWARD  CROSBY  ON  THE 
DEATH  OF  HIS  1   \  I  HER. 

My  Father,  oh,  my  Father:  could  I  see 

The  flaming  chariot  bear  thee  to  the  skies, 

I'd  lift  thy  fallen  mantle  where  it  lies, 
And  on  my  lonely  way  go  thankfully. 
But  oh!  the  marble  brow,  the  lips  of  clay, 

The  moveless  slumber  of  the  reverend  head, 

The  form  all  shrouded  for  its  narrow  bed, 
The  grave's  long  darkness,  and  the  swift  decay! 
Is  this  the  triumph  of  that  life  of  prayer? 

Was  it  for  this  he  wore  that  sacred  name? 
Nay  wait,  sad  heart;    soon  shall  the  glowing  air 

Be  filled,   but  not  with  chariots  of  flame; 
For  with  ten  thousand   saints  the   Lord  himself  shall 

come, 
And  bear  with  everlasting  joy  His  people  home. 


44  IN  MEMORIAM. 

IN   MEMORIAM. 

St.  Louis,  November  26th,   1S77. 

I. 

THE   DIRGE. 

Mabel,  Ma  Belle,  my  beautiful, 

My  dream  of  loveliness! 

I  have  awoke,  my  dream  is  fled; 

Thy  lovely  face  is  with  the  dead. 
Oh,  sunlit  home 
How  changed  and  dull! 

I  roam  about  the  empty  place 

Listening  for  steps  that  never  come. 
No  tripping  form,  no  cry  of  glee, 
No  load  of  love  upon  my  knee, 
No  red  round  cheek  against  my  own, 
No  quick  embrace  around  me  thrown. 
The  very  air  is  still  and  dead, 
But  in  my  heart  this  dirge  is  said: 
"  Lost!  lost  and  gone! 
I  am  alone. " 

II. 

THE    VISION. 

Thus  with  my  head  upon  my  breast, 
My  empty  hands  together  prest, 
My  moaning  heart  was  moaning  on — 
"Alone,  alone!" 


IN     MEM0R1  \M 

When  on  my  brow  a  touch  was  laid, 
I  raised  my  head, 

And  lo,  a  form  before  me  sto<  d 

In  shining  rob^s,  but  marked  with  blood. 
With  lifted  hand 

M  Look  up,"  he  said,  and  while  he  spoke 

As  from  the  heavens,  a  glory  broke. 

Through  parted  roof  and  parted  sky, 

I  saw  the  countless  host  on  high 
In  worship  stand. 
44  Show  me,"  I  cried,  "my  darling  there," 

And  strained  my  eager  eyes  to  see. 

Too  far!  too  far!  it  could  not  be. 
I  fell  and  clasped  his  knees  in  prayer, 
"One  look,"  I  cried;  and  while  I  sent 

My  gaze  to  heaven, 
Over  my  upturned  face  He  bent 

And  to  my  soul  the  look  was  given — 
Not  from  among  that  far  off  host ; 
Not  from  the  child  I  loved  and  lost; 
'Twas  from  my  Saviour's  face  of  love, 
Around  whose  head,  bent  gently  down. 
The  open  glory  from  above, 
Shone  like  the  splendor  of  a  crown. 


45 


46  IN   MEM0R1AM. 

III. 

THE    CONSOLATION. 

"Trust  me,"  he  said,  "for  life  and  death 

Obey  my  word. 

I  am  their  Lord. 
I  breathed  the  breath 
That  kindled  in  your  earthly  home 
That  flitting  bloom 
Which  looked  to  your  untutored  eyes 
Like  the  safe  bloom  of  Paradise. 
Dost  thou  not  know 
The  fairest  life  that  wakes  below 
Wakes  but  to  die? 

When  bright  with  heavenly  love  I  came 

To  be  a  babe  in  Bethlehem, 
Though  angel  choirs  that  filled  the  sky 
My  heralds  were, 
I  found  a  cross  and  sepulchre' — 
But  lo,  I  live  forevermore! 

And  peace  I  have  for  them  that  weep; 

And  life  I  have  for  them  that  sleep; 
For  one  by  one  through  that  same  door 
My  feet  have  passed, 
I  bring  my  own  to  heaven  at  last. 
Trust  Me  and  wait. 
Dread  not  the  dark  and  narrow  °:ate, 


OP]  NING   OF   l  Rl  l  M"l  I)  i  1  Ml   II  RY.  47 

^ut  bend  thy  earnest  gaze  on  me, 
And  in  me  see 

The  image  that  thy  child  shall  wear 
When  thou  shall  meet   her  there." 

IV. 
THE    SONG. 

Mabel,  Ma  Belle,  my  beautiful, 

My  dream  of  loveliness! 

I  wake  at  last,  my  dreams  are  fled — 

My  dream  of  earth-born  pride  and  peace. 
My  dream  of  loneliness  and  dread. 

Christ's  beauty  is  thy  beauty  now. 
He  found  thee  sick,  and  made  the  whole,. 

He  set  a  crown  upon  thy  brow ; 
And  in  thy  face  has  made  to  shine 

The  glory  of  His  heavenly  throne.. 

Mabel,  my  own, 
My  Lord's  and  mine, 

My  beautiful!  bloom  on! 


OPENING  OF  FREEHOLD  CEMETERY. 

One  little  grave  in  the  broad  open  field! 
No  tree  stands  near  it,  and  no  grass  nor  flower 
Waves  o'er  the  new-turned  mould.      As   yet  no  stone 
Rises  above  it;  and  the  wintry  rain 


48  OPENING  OF  FREEHOLD  CEMETERY. 

Wears  many  a  channel  down  its  lowly  sides. 

How  could  they  leave  thee,  little  one,  alone? 

Has  love  forgot  thee  in  thy  dreary  grave? 

Nay,  the  same  love  that  watched  thy  closing  eyes 

And  laid  thee  sleeping  in  thy  little  bed, 

Waits  but  a  while  till  it  grows  weary  too, 

And  seeks  its  pillow  at  thy  very  side. 

Not  long  a  lonely  sleeper  shalt  thou  be 

Amid  that  open  field..     The  swelling  mounds 

Mantled  with  grass   and  flowers  shall  soon   surround 

thee, 
And  stately  trees  shall  join  their  solemn  shade 
Above  the  clustering  marbles.      Giant  trees, 
Unplanted  now,  shall  rear  their  heads  at  length, 
And    still    the  unchecked  throng   shall  crowd    about 

thee, 
And  stones,  ungraven  now,  moss-grown  and  worn, 
Shall  hide  their  record  from  the  curious  eye; 
And  swelling  mounds,  long  trodden  on,  shall  sink 
To  the  green  level  of  the  thick  grown  sod; 
But  never,  never,  shall  the  fresh-turned  earth 
And  the  new  stone  be  wanting. 

While  I  look 
The  winter's  day  ends  with  a  lifting  cloud. 
The  sinking  sun  gilds  with  his  level  ray 
The  one  bare  mound  amid  the  withered  grass. 
So  may  a  holy  light  forever  lie, 
With  heavenly  promise  on  the  gathering  graves. 


LORD  S  DAY  EVENING.  49 

There  sainted  age  shall  sweetly  sink  I 

There  youth,  from  earthly  visions  meekly  turning, 

Shall  lay  its  placid  brow,  gilded  with  heaven; 

There  earnest  manhood,  summoned  from  the  strife, 

Shall  put  aside  its  armor  and  await  the  prize, 

Tec  promised  crown.      How  safely  shall  they  sleep, 

That  sleep,  dear  babe,  like  thee.      Of  such  as  thee, 

The  King  hath  said,  He  makes  His  kingdom  up. 

So  where  this  mortal  throng  must  meet,  "  He  takes 

A  little  child  and  sets  him  in  the  midst." 

Then  when  His  trump  shall  sound,  and    living  forms 

Shall  crowd  that  field  of  graves,  keep  thou  thy  place! 

Like  little  children  may  they  hear  His  call, 

As  mounting  through  the  air  their  Lord  to  meet, 

Straight  to  his  arms,"  A  little  child  shall  lead  them." 


LORD'S  DAY  EVENING. 

(Unfinished.) 

The  Sabbath  sun  has  set;  and  the  young  moon 
Stares  white  and  cold  from  the  clear  winter's  sky 
The  leafless  tree  before  my  window  rears 
Its  taper  branches  in  the  moveless  air. 
No  sound  of  wind  or  bird  or  bleating  flock 
Or  wakeful  cricket  breaks  the  utter  calm. 
But,  hark !  from  yonder  distant  cottage,  where 
4 


50  WHEN  THE  DAY  OF  LIFE  IS  DREARY. 

The  twinkling  light  shows  like  a  yellow  star, 
The  mellow  strain  of  evening  worshippers 
Now  faintly  swells,  now  dies  upon  the  ear. 
My  duties  done,  my  weary  mind  throws  off 
Its  load  of  thought,  and  like  my  eye  that  roves 
In  happy  freedom  o'er  the  moonlit  scene, 
Wanders  at  will ;  yet  like  that  solemn  strain 
That  swells  again  upon  my  willing  ear, 
The  memory  of  sacred  themes  breathes  o'er  me 
Waking  the  loose  chords  with  their  melody. 
I  would  not  give  this  hour  with  its  thought 
Of  duty  done  and  hope  of  holy  fruit, 
For  all  the  splendid  spoil  the  world  could  yield. 
I  have  been  Christ's  ambassador  to-day. 


WHEN  THE   DAY  OF  LIFE  IS  DREARY. 

When  the  day  of  life  is  dreary 

And  when  gloom  thy  course  enshrouds, 
When  thy  steps  are  faint  and  weary 

And  thy  spirit  dark  with  clouds, 
Steadfast  still  in  thy  well  doing 

Let  thy  soul  torget  the  past, 
Steadfast  still  the  right  pursuing, 

Doubt  not,  joy  shall  come  at  last! 


WHAT   W  IS  THE  CHARM  ?  5  I 

Striving  still,  and  onward  pressing, 

Seek  not  future  years  to  know; 
But  deserve  the  wished-for  blessing, 

It  shall  come,  though  it  be  slow. 
Tho'  each  year  but  bring  thee  sadness 

And  thy  youth  be  fleeting  fast. 
There'll  be  time  enough  for  gladness, 

Doubt  not,    joy  will  come  at  last! 

His  fond  eye  is  watching  o'er  thee, 

His  strong  arm  shall  be  thy  guard; 
Duty's  path  is  still  before  thee, 

It  shall  lead  to  thy  reward. 
By  thy  ills  let  faith  grow  stronger, 

Mould  the  future  by  the  past, 
Hope  thou  on  a  little  longer, 

Doubt  not,  joy  will  come  at  last! 


WHAT  WAS  THE  CHARM? 

It  was  a  lovely  flower  of   May, — 
Velvet  purple  dark  as  night, 
Ruddy  yellow  golden  bright, 
Azure  like  the  skies  by  day, 
On  its  spreading  petals  lay; 

And  a  fragrant  scent  it  breathed 


52  WHAT  WAS  THE  CHARM  ? 

Faint,  like  that  which  orchards  yield 
When  the  blossoms  fall   like  snow; 
Sweet  as  that  incense  of  the  field — 

The  blessing  by  the  grass  bequeathed, 
When  the  mowers  lay  it  low. 
Was  it  the  flower  that  charmed  me  so  ? 
Ah,  many  a  pansy  just  as  fair 

I've  passed  unnoticed  in  its  bed; 

But  o'er  this  flower  a  little  head 
Shed  down  its  wealth  of  sunny  hair; 
Two  little  hands  were  clasped  to  hold 

The  treasure  in  its  pot  of  clay. 
They  clasped  it  like  a  wedge  of  gold. 

Upon  her  head  the  sunshine  lay, 
While  the  light  and  fitful  air 
Trifled  with  her  silken  hair. 
Now  it  gently  swayed,  and  now 
Floated  cloudlike  round  her  brow, 
Now  it  hung  without  a  stir; 

The  little  hands,  the  leaves  of  green, 

Now  are  hid  and  now  are  seen 
In  the  golden  gossamer. 
And  lustrous  eyes,  more  dark,  more  bright 
Than  those  mixed  hues  of  sky  and  night 
On  the  flower's  dappled  face, 
And  soft  round  cheeks,  half  red,  half  pale — 

The  sweetest  tints  that  roses  wear, 
Gleamed  through  that  light  and  fluttering  veil, 


Wll.\  I    WAS    l  ill    CHARM  :  53 

So,  fondled  by  the  loving  air, 
She  watched  her  flower  with  childish  grace. 
Was  it  her  wealth  of  sunny  hair, 
Her  childish  grace,  her  beauty  rare 
That  charmed  me  so?     Ah  no,  ah  no, 
My  little  maid  might  come  and  go, 
Just  as  my  sunniest  hours  have  done; 
I  sore  regret   them  when  they're  gone, 
Yet  scarcely  heed  them  while  they  stay. 
I  >ce  my  fairy  every  day; 
But  this  day  in  her  eye  so  bright, 
I  saw  a  new  and  separate  light. 
A  watery  luster  on  it  lay; 
On  the  long  lash  it  slowly  grew, 
And  rounded  to  a  drop  of  dew. 
There  like  a  gem  awhile  it  hung — 

Her  trembling  form  I  marked   it  well, 
Her  laboring  breath  I  well  could  hear — 
Still  to  her  eye  the  jewel  cluhg, 

Till  swelling  suddenly  it  fell, 
And  on  the  pansy  lay — a  tear. 
My  fortieth  year  began  that  day. 

I  am  not  young,    I  am  not  old. 
I've  lived  to  cast  some  dreams  away; 

I've  lived  to  learn  that  love  is  gold. 
So  I  was  glad   that  day  of  spring 

When  round  my  chair  my  children  stood, 
Each  laden  with  an  offering. 


54  WHAT   WAS    I  HE  CHARM? 

They  had  no  worth  but  worth  of  love, 
Which,  much  concerned  its  warmth  to  prove, 

Spoke  such  a  language  as  it  could. 
One  was  not  there — my  little  Grace; 
Outside  she  stood  and  prest  her  face 
Against  the  pane  to  eye  the  rest. 
But  plain  her  clouded  look  confest 
Some  childish  struggle  in  her  breast. 
Upon  the  sill   her  flower  was  set; 
She  seemed  to  stand  alone,  but  yet, 
The  sun  upon  the  carpet  threw 
A  second  shadow,  and  I  knew 

It  was  her  mother  standing  near, 

Whispering  good  counsel  in  her  ear. 
Alas,  alas  for  little  Grace; 
Stubborn  and  still  she  kept  her  place, 
WTith  hand  withdrawn  and  moody  face 
A  silent  hour  had  passed  along; 
No  sound' of  play,  no  sound  of  song; 
When  as  I  sought  in  studious  mood, 

My  garden  seat  beneath  the  tree, 
There  in  my  way,  my  fairy  stood. 

I  watched  her  well;  she  saw  not  me. 
She  stood  and  clasped  her  pot  of  clay, 
While  on  her  head  the  sunshine  lay. 
And  there  the  warm  and  fitful  air 
Caressed  her  light  and  golden  hair. 


WHAT  WAS  THE  CHARM  ?  55 

I  watched  her  while  the  strife  went  on, 

And  saw  the  tearful  victory  won. 

Then  up  she  looked  with  brightened   face, 

To  seek  the  porch,  and  saw  me  stand. 
Toward  me  she  leaped  with  eager  pace, 

And  thrust  her  treasure  in  my  hand. 
No  word  she  spoke;   nor  could  she  speak; 
But  when  I  stooped  to  kiss  her  cheek, 
Then  all   her  soul  began  to  flow. 

Around  my  neck  her  arms  she  prest, 

Her  face  she  hid  upon  my  breast, 
And  sobbed,  and  would  not  let  me  go. 
What  was  it  then  that  charmed  me  so? 
That  dewy  drop,  for  well   I  knew 

That,  warmer  than  her  cheek  of  red, 
And  purer  than  her  eye  of  blue, 

Is  that  bright  depth  where  tears  are  bred. 
From  far  their  subtle  substance  springs, 
High  is  it  borne  on  airy  wings; 
It  fills  its  sky,  an  ether  clear, 

Shot  through    with    warmth — perchance    with 
chill, 

Before  the  precious  drops  distill. 
It  takes  a  heaven  to  make  a  tear. 


PART  II 


PART  II 


TEACH  THOU    ME. 

What  I  know  not  teach  Thou  me: 

To  my  opened  eyes  unfold 
More  than  mortal  sense  can  see — 

More  than  mortal  heart  can  hold — 
Show  me  Christ  on  Calvary. 

What   I   know  not  teach  Thou  me: 

Show  me  all  my  hidden  sin; 
Break  its  power,  and  set  me  free. 

Pure  without  and  pure  within 
Let  Thy  ransomed  servant  be. 

What  I  know  not  teach  Thou  me: 
In  Thy  vineyard  choose  my  place. 

Make  me  wise  thy  choice  to  see. 
Give  me  skill   in  ways  of  grace, 

Leading  many  souls  to  Thee. 

What   I   know  not  teach  Thou  me: 

On  those  heights  which  saints  have  trod 

In  their  Master's  company, 
Lead  me  in  the  light  of  God; 

Let  Thy  servant  walk  with  Thee. 
59 


60  THY  SWORD  AND  SHIELD. 

What  I  know  not  teach  Thou  me: 
Check  me  where  I  cross  Thy  will. 

As  my  fading  visions  flee, 

Bid  my  thwarted  heart  be  still, 

And,  rejoicing,  wait  on  Thee. 

What  I  know  not  teach  Thou  me: 
When  with  tangled  feet   I  stand, 

Held   Dy  toils  I  cannot  see, 

Let  me  keep  Thy  guiding  hand; 

Step  by  step  my  leader  be. 

What  I  know  not  teach  Thou  me: 
When  I  seem  forsaken  quite. 

And  my  fears  rise  like  the  sea, 
Let  me  feel   Thine  arm  of  might 

Fold  me  in  its  panoply. 

What  I  know  not  teach  Thou  me:- 
When  my  darkest  hour  shall  come, 

Whilst  I  wait  and  watch  for  Thee, 
Lift  the  veil  and  take  me  home; 

Let  Thy  child  Thy  glory  see! 


THY  SWORD  AND  SHIELD. 

With  trusting  heart  and  uttered  vow 
I  claim  my  Saviour  and  my  Lord; 

His  name  is  on  my  forehead  now, 

He  arms  me  with  His  shield  and  sword. 


MY    1  K11..\I>.  6] 

All  ye  who  live  by  Him  who  died, 

And  wage  His  war  with  death  and  sin, 

R  ve  a  brother  to  your  s 

ur  fight  to  .share,  your  crown  to  win. 

Lord,    I  take  Thy  sword  and  shield. 
But  boast  no  daring  of  my  own. 

ace  I'll  conquer  on  the  field, 
I'll  wear  my  crown  by  grace  alone. 


MY  FRIEND. 

I  have  a  friend  whose  eye 

Ne'er  leaves  me  day  nor  night 
My  ways  and  wants  forever  lie 

Within  His  loving  sight. 
His  love  I'm  prone  to  task 

With  many  a  wild  request. 
He  answers  better  than  I  ask, 

And  gives  me  what  is  best. 
My  faithful  friend  is  strong; 

Could  earth  and  air  and  sea 
Make  league  with  hell  to  do  me  wrong, 

His  word  should  shelter  me. 
Upon  His  wide  command 

Float  the  vast  worlds  like  dust. 
Secure  I  dwell  beneath  His  hand, 

And  love,  obey  and  trust. 


62  A  SONG  OF  GRATITUDE. 

A  SONG  OF  GRATITUDE. 

First  Presbyterian  Church,  St.  Louis, 
Sunday,  Jan.  19,  1S79. 

It  is  thy  bounty  Lord  that  fills 

The  teeming  sea,  the  field,  the  mine; 

The  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills, 

The  silver  and  the  gold  are  Thine. 

Now  with  the  gifts  Thyself  hast  given, 
We  men  come  bending  to  Thy  throne. 

Earth  turns  Thy  bounty  back  to  heaven ; 
Great  King,  we  bring  Thee  of  Thine  own. 

Bright  with  Thy  love  the  gifts  came  down; 

With  love  we  send  them  back  again. 
Let  Jesus  wear  them  in  His  crown, 

For  Jesus  bought  them  with  His  pain. 

And  us  He  bought!     He  bought  the  world! 

Already  floats  on  every  breeze 
The  banner  that  shall  ne'er  be  furled — 

Thy  Crimson  cross,  O  Prince  of  Peace. 

Thou  gentle  conqueror,  who  didst  bear 

The  burden  of  our  agony, 
Thy  cross  within  our  hearts  we  wear; 

Thv  soldiers  unto  death  are  we. 


LI\  E  FOR  COD.  63 

LIVE   FOR  GOD. 

Ps.  cxvi:  6.      Return  unto  thy  rest,  0  my  soul. 

Oh  Thou,  who,  while  I  wake  or  sleep, 

Or  sin  or  serve,  art  ever  God; 
Whose  eyes  their  watch  of  mercy  keep 

O'er  all  my  steps,  wherever  trod, — 

I  hate  the  folly  that  forgets 

In  common    things   myself  and  Thee — 
This  web  of  worldiness  that  sets 

Its  worthless  veil  twixt  God  and  me. 

Oh  holy,  hidden  face,  come  near; 

Pour  on  my  soul   Thy  flood  of  grace; 
Break  down  my  dungeon  walls,  and  rear, 

In  jeweled  light,  my  walls  of  praise! 

Fill  me  with  God!      My  narrow  scope 
Lifts  like  a  sky,  if  Thou  come  in. 

My  lifted  sky  dissolves,  and  hope 

Scales  the  far  height  where  Christ  is  seen. 

Oh  God,  what  clashing  fancies  claim 
The  mastery  of  life's  little  road! 

Their  very  jargon  speaks  Thy  name, 
And  calls:      O  mortal,  live  for  God! 


64  A  PRAYER. 

A  PRAYER. 

0  gracious  Saviour,  hear  me  now, 

I  pray  to  Thee; 
Let  not  my  heart  forget  that  Thou 
Hast  died  for  me. 

Thou  knowest  what  fierce  assaults  I  meet, 

Without,  within, 
And  how  I  walk  with  stumbling  feet 

'Midst  snares  of   sin. 

And  yet  my  home,  O  blessed  Lord, 

Is  where  Thou  art. 
Thy  name.  Thy  love,  Thy  faithful  word 

Are  in  my  heart. 

But  care  and   hurry  crowd  me  on, 
And   I  forget; 

1  bless  Thy  faithful  hand  alone 

That  holds  me  yet. 

Lord,  in  this  wayward  frame  I  would 

Not  always  live, 
I  hunger  for  the  heavenly  food 

Thou  hast  to  give. 

O  turn  Thy  look  of  love  on  me; 

Possess  me  quite, 
And  let  Thy  living  presence  be 

My  guiding  light. 


"  w  1  l.l    DON]  .  65 

"WELL    DOM 

Holy  Spirit,  in  Thy  light 

All  the  holy  serve  and  shine; 
All   the  angels  strong  in  might, 

All   the  ransomed  saints  are  Thine. 
Martyrs  bless  Thee  for  their  crown; 

Holy  prophets  spoke  Thy  word; 
And  Thy  boundless  grace  came  down 

On  our  tempted,  sorrowing  Lord. 

Now  no  sorrow  clouds  His  brow; 

Christ  has  triumphed  by  His  cross. 
We  are  in  the  conflict  now; 

Holy  Helper,  succor  us! 
Arm  us  with  Thy  gracious  might! 

Spoil  immortal  make  us  win! 
Heavenward  help  us  through  the  fight! 

Bring  the  grace-made  conquerors  in! 

Songs  go  with  us;  songs  we  meet; 

Kindred  voices  near  the  throne, 
Pulsing  with  our  marching  feet, 

Bid  our  lengthening  ranks  go  on. 
Oh,  what  shouts  of  "Grace!  "  shall  ring 

When  the  nearing  songs  are  one; — 
When  we  stand  before  the  King, 

And  the  King  shall  say,  "Well  done!  " 


66  "whom  having  not  seen,  ye  LOVE." 

"WHOM   HAVING  NOT  SEEN,  YE  LOVE." 
i  Pet.   i  ;  8. 

Jesus,  while  Thy  name  is  spoken. 

By  my  trembling  mortal  tongue, 
Round  Thee  swells  the  tide  unbroken 

Of  the  everlasting  song. 
Blood-bought  souls  rehearse  their  story: 

Host  on  host  send  back  their  strain; 
"Blessing,  honor,  power  and  glory 

To  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain!" 
Lord,  my  heart  would  share  their  praises: 

But  what  distance  lies  between! 
From  these  depths  my  spirit  raises 

Homage  to  a  Christ  unseen. 
But  He  reigns  in  light  unclouded. 

Hail!  Thou  brow  of  majesty! 
Once  in  midnight  anguish  shrouded, — 

Heaven's  high  noon  now  streams  from  Thee! 
Endless  blessing  be  upon  Thee, 

Who  hast  saved  me  through  Thy  blood! 
Glories  new  forever  crown  Thee, 

Dying,  reigning  Lamb  of  God! 
All  ye  saints  in  heaven  confess  Him! 

That  is  heaven !  What  joy  to  you, 
Who  may  see  Him,  while  you  bless  Him! 

But  mv  soul  shall  bless  Him  too. 


]>i  DI<  A  l  ( > k \    HYMN. 

DEDICATORY  HYMN. 

•n  Avenue  Reformed  Church  Lecture  Roum,  March  sd, 

Father  of  lights,  and  Thou,   atoning  Lord, 

Thou,  too,  blest  Spirit,  only  source  of  grace. 
Upon  these  walls  Thy  holy  name  record. 

And  with  Thy  presence  hallow  all  the  place. 
No  pomp  of  worship  bring  we  here  to  Thee 

From   countless    crowds,    or   pealing  pipes   and 
strings; 
We  rear  a  covert  where  our  souls  may  flee. 

To  hide  beneath  the  shadow  of  Thy  wings. 
A  place  where  sighs  may  breathe,  and  tears  may  fall, 

A  place  where  griefs  are  soothed,  and  sins  confest ; 
A  heavenly  place,  where  Christ  is  all  in  all, 

And  aching  hearts  find  solace  on  His  breast. 
A  place  secure,  for  infant  feet  to  tread  ; 

Where  in  the  Sabbath  calm  our  Lord  may  come, 
To  feed  the  children  with  the  children's  bread. 

And  point  their  footsteps  to  the  children's  home. 
Then  meet  us,  Father,  with  Thy  look  of  love: 

Hasten,  dear  Lord,  with  blessings  in  Thy  hand; 
Swift  out  of  heaven  come  down,  O  heavenly  Dove, 

And  leave  us  never,  while  these  walls  shall  stand. 
Bring  down,  this  very  hour,  Thine  angel  guests — 

Thy  peace,  Thy  love,  the  joy  of  sin  forgiven: 
And  mark  the  Bethel  where  Thy  ladder  rests — 

This  house  of  God,  this  open  gate  to  Heaven. 


68  EVEN  SO,    COME,    LORD  JESUS. 

EVEN  SO,   COME,   LORD  JESUS. 
Rev.    xxii :  20. 

How  long  the  heavens  withhold  Thee, 

Our  Helper  tried  and  strong! 
The  ranks  of  light  enfold  Thee, 

How  long,  Oh  Lord,  how  long? 
When  shall"  the  heavens  be  bending 

Beneath  the  unnumbered  wings, 
In  radiant  pomp  attending 

The  coming  King  of  Kings?  ' 

No  cross  is  now  before  Thee; 

Thy  ransom-work  is  done. 
The  blood-stained  wood  that  bore  Thee 

Outblazons  now  the  sun. 
Such  glory  lasts  to  lighten 

Thy  way  in  sorrow  trod! 
What  burst  of  heaven  shall  brighten 

The  coming  of  our  God! 

The  splendor  shall  not  hide  Thee 

By  earth  and  heaven  adored. 
All  glories  pale  beside  Thee, 

Our  Brother  and  our  Lord. 
Break  through  the  skies,  and  greet  us 

From  our  eternal  home! 
Make  haste,  our  Life,  to  meet  us! 

Oh  come,  Lord  Jesus,  come! 


-> 


USSION    POl  If.  (><j 

HOME    MISSION   POEM. 

God  of  the  men  that  quailed  not 

At  any  face  of  clay  ; 
God  of  the  grace  that  failed  not 
Through  all  their  pilgrim  way; 

Like  Israel,  Thou  didst  lead  them 

Through  waters  deep  and  red; 
Like  Israel  Thou  didst  feed  them 

With  Christ,  the  heavenly  bread. 

And  here  their  sons  are  planted 

And  here  Thy  churches  stand; 
Their  martyr-prayer  is  granted — 

This  is  Jehovah's  land. 

Ring  out  from  tower  and  steeple, 

Ye  wilderness  of  bells! 
And  shout,  ye  thankful  people; 

The  Lord  among  you  dwells — 

Not  where  some  Zion  riseth 

More  glorious  than  the  rest; 
No  spot  our  King  despiseth, 

Nor  knoweth  east  nor  west. 

O'er  prairie,  stream  and  city, 

Deep  vale  and  mountain  high, 
His  sovereign,  saving  pity 

He  spreadeth  like  the  sky. 


70  HOME  MISSION  POEM. 

Oh,  spreading  sky,  be  bended! 

Come  Holy  Ghost  again, 
Swift  out  of  heaven  descended, 

And  bearing  gifts  to  men. 

For  lo!  our  land  is  teeming 
With  an  unnumbered  host; 

The  scattered  tribes  come  streaming 
As  to  a  Pentecost. 

No  upper  room  can  hold  them 
Nor  temple,  as  of  yore; 

The  circling  seas  enfold  them, 
They  spread  from  shore  to  shore. 

Then  come  with  sudden  power 
O  rushing  wind  of  grace: 

Sweep  through  our  land  this  hour, 
And  fill  the  ample  place. 

Come  to  the  crowded  churches; 

Come  to  the  busy  mills; 
Come  where  the  miner  perches 

His  hut  among  the  hills. 

Where  two  or  three  are  kneeling 
And  breath  of  praise  and  prayer 

From  lowly  roofs  come  stealing 
Upon  the  evening  air — 

Where'er  Thy  truth  is  spoken, 
Where'er  a  child  is  taught, 


BAR  riMEUS.  71 


Where'er  a  heart  is  broken — 
Thy  saving  work  be  wrought. 

To  native  bom  and  stranger 
Send  out  the  searching  grace, 

Till  the  wild  forest  ranger 
Shall  time  his  steps  to  praise. 

Till  all  their  sons  and  daughters 
Of  every  hue  and  tongue, 

Snail  like  the  noise  of  waters, 
Lift  up  their  sounding  song. 

Oh,  many-voiced  nation, 
Oh,  fold  of  every  flock, 

Safe  be  thy  habitation, 
Beneath  the  eternal  rock. 

But  make  thy  God  thy  glory, 
And  take  thy  tongues  of  flame, 

And  tell  the  world  the  story, 
Of  Calvary  and  the  Lamb. 


BARTIMEUS. 

Lord,  I  know  Thy  grace  is  nigh  me, 
Thou  Thyself  I  cannot  see; 

Jesus,  Master,  pass  not  by  me; 
Son  of  David,  pity  me. 


THE  HOLY   SPIRIT. 

While  I  sit  in  weary  blindness, 
Longing  for  the  blessed  light, 

Many  taste  Thy  loving  kindness; 
"Lord,  1  would  receive  my  sight." 

I  would  see  Thee  and  adore  Thee, 
And  Thy  word  the  power  can  give; 

Hear  the  sightless  soul  implore  Thee; 
Let  me  see  Thy  face  and  live. 

Ah,  what  touch  is  this  that  thrills  me? 

What  this  burst  of  strange  delight? 
Lo,  the  rapturous  vision  fills  me! 

This  is  Jesus!   This  is  sight! 

Room,  ye  saints  that  throng  behind  Him! 

Let  me  follow  in  the  way; 
I  will  teach  the  blind  to  find  Him 

Who  can  turn  their  night  to  day. 


THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 

God,  the  Spirit,   Fount  of  might, 

All  the  saints  are  saints  by  Thee. 
Life  of  those  that   live  in  light, 

Wilt  Thou  live  in  me? 
Who  can  need  thy  blessings  more? 

Who  can  urge  a  worthier  plea? 
For  my  soul   is  weak  and  sore, 

And  Christ  died  for  me. 


73 


Here  Oil  earth  my  Saviour  died, 

Where  my  sins  and  sorrows  be, 
Shall    1 1  is  spirit  not  abide 

( )n  the  earth,  with  me? 

and    Heaven  prepares  to  sing, 

Blessed  Spirit,  thanks  to  Thee, 
For  the  saints  shall  see  their  king 

Glorified  in  me. 


HYMN 


Oh  God,  our  Father,  from  the  height 

Of  Thy  eternal  throne, 
See  through  what  clouds  of  storm  and  night 

Our  little  years  roll  on. 

Break  through  our  firmament  of  gloom, 

Our  downcast  eyes  lift  up. 
And  make  Thy  children's  faces  bloom 

With  heaven's  immortal  hope. 

Above  the  turmoil  of  our  years 

We  see  our  Father's  face, 
And  through  the  blindness  of  our  tears 

Streams  down  Thy  light  of  grace. 

So  let  Thy  presence  guide  and   keep 

The  remnant  of  our  way, 
Until  our  brightening  years  shall  sweep 

Into  eternal  day. 


74    THE   TRINITY. 

THE  TRINITY. 

Is  this  the  Son  of  God 

That  dies  in  agony, 
And  did  he  choose  this  cross  of  shame, 

And  bitter  death  for  me  ? 

Is  this  the  Spirit's  grace, 

That  moves  within  my  breast, 

And  shows  me  all  my  wickedness, 
And  makes  me  long  for  rest  ? 

Is  this  the  Father's  voice 
That  speaks  above  my  fears, 

And  with  its  kindness  melts  my  soul, 
To  tenderness  and  tears? 

To  me,  Great  God,  to  me, 
Is  this  great  pity  shown ; 

Take  me;  I  yield  and  from  this  hour 
Dear  Lord.  I  am  Thine  own. 


THOU  HEAREST  THE   SOUND   THEREOF. 
Jxo.  iii.  8. 

Spirit  of  life,  how  near  thou  art! 

Oh,  make  Thy  work  complete; 
And  bring  my  quickened,  thankful  heart 

To  mv  Redeemer's  feet. 


_ 


I  w  l  \  1  V-  l  111KD    PSALM.  75 

But  can  I  now  my  thanks  forbear? 

I  Live   1   no  SOng  to  raise  ? 
Thy  quickening  breath  is  in  my  prayer; 
ept   it  in  Thy  praise. 

Oli,  S  gn  Pity!     Tender  Might! 

Thy  steps  I  cannot  trace  ; 

But   I  am  walking  in  Thy   light, 
And  walking  by  Thy  grace. 

A  pulse  is  in  this  heart  of   stone; 

It  owns  its  Sovereign  near. 
My  Guest!  my  God!  accept  Thy  throne. 

And  make  Thy  temple  here. 


TWENTY-THIRD   PSALM. 

A  shepherd  in  the  Lord  have  I, 
I  shall  not  want.      He  makes  me  lie 
Where  green  and  broad  the  pastures  grow, 
He  leads  me  where  still  waters  flow. 

T'is  He  brings  back  my  straying  soul, 
And  makes  the  wounded  wanderer  whole 
Then  shows  me  for  His  goodness  sake 
The  righteous  ways  my  feet  must  take. 

Yea,  when  the  roughest  paths  I  tread, 
Dark  as  the  gloom  that  shrouds  the  dead, 
I'll  fear  no  harm.     I  walk  with  Thee; 
Thy  rod  and  staff,  they  comfort  me. 


j6  ELIJAH. 

Though  hosts  of  foes  around  me  stand, 
My  board  is  loaded  by  Thy  hand ; 
Anointed  with  Thy  oil  I  sup 
With  brimming  fullness  in  my  cup. 

Surely  on  me  till   life  shall  end, 
Goodness  and  mercy  shall  attend. 
Then,  Lord,  my  endless  home  shall  be 
Within  Thy  house,  and  near  to  Thee. 


ELIJAH. 

My  way,  O  God,  before  Thee  lies, 
My  trodden  steps,  my  steps  untrod. 

In  light  they  lie  before  Thine  eyes — 
One  journey  to  the  mount  of  God. 

Though  far  from  hope  and  help,  I  make 
My  bed  upon  the  desert's  sands, 

Safe  from  my  guarded  sleep  I  wake 
To  feast  on  dainties  from  Thy  hands. 

It  is  no  desert  where  Thou  art ; 

There  is  no  want,  if  God  provide; 
And  lonely  men,  who  take  Thy  part, 

Have  hidden  thousands  on  their  side. 

Then  lead  me  on ;  my  roughest  road 
Is  steep  with  duty;  and  apace 

It  nears  the  rock  of  Thy  abode — 
The  Horeb  where  I  see  Thy  face. 


PRAYER    i"    Mil     HOLY  SPIRIT  —  TH1     rEMPTATION, 

PRAYER  TO  THE   HOLY   SPIRIT, 

Thou  who  like  the  wind  dost  come; 

Come  to  me,  but  ne'er  depart; 
Blessed  Spirit,  make  thy  home 

In  my  thankful  heart. 

Answer  not  with  tongues  of  light; 

Brood  not  o'er  me  like  a  dove; 
Fall  upon  me  in   thy  might; 

Fill  me  with  thy  love. 

Sin  has  ruled  me;  set  me  free; 

Sin  has  scourged  me;  bring  me  rest; 
Help  my  fainting  soul  to  flee 

To  my  Saviour's  breast. 

Tell  me  much  of  cleansing  blood; 

Show  me  sin,  but  sin  forgiven; 
Step  by  step,  where  Christ  has  trod, 

Help  me  home  to  heaven. 


THE  TEMPTATION. 

Through  the  desert's  blazing  noon, 
Through  the  desert's  homeless  night, 

Fasting,  fainting  and  alone, 

Comes  the  Tempted  to  the  fight. 

Not  a  stone  in  all  this  way, 

But  for  Him  would  turn  to  bread; 


78  1   CLING   TO   THL£. 

And  His  weakest  wish  could  lay 
Crowns  of  kingdoms  on  His  head- 

But  for  Him  no  kingly  crown, 
Loaded  board,  or  couch  of  rest, 

Till  His  foe  is  trampled  down 
And  His  triumph  is  confest. 

Crowned  art  Thou  now,  dear  Lord ; 

•  Food  Thou  hast  for  Thee  and  Thine 
For  the  desert  earth  is  stored 

With  Thy  bread  and  flowing  wine. 

Now  the  weakest  girt  with  might, 
Now  the  fainting  fed  by  faith, 

Foil  the  Tempter  in  the  fight, 
And  in  dying,  conquer  Death. 


I   CLING  TO  THEE. 

Like  those  who  grasped  in  fright 

Their  ship's  low  side; 
And  drifted  through  the  howling  night, 

On  Galilee's  fierce  tide: 

I  drift  across  a  dark 

And  boisterous  sea, 
And  cling — but  to  no  foundering  bark  • 

My  Lord,  I  cling  to  Thee. 


i.i  <  >k\    Bl     ro  GOD  ALON1  .  79, 

In  glor) ,  on  the  deep 
Thou  walkest  there ! 

My  faith  into  Thine  arms  doth  leap; 
Thine  arms  my  chariot  are. 

The  sea  is  but  Thy  way; 

The   storm,  Thy  voice. 
I  yield  me  to  Thy  sovereign  sway 

And  choose  Thy  blessed  choice. 


GLORY   BE  TO  GOD  ALONE. 

From  the  vast  and  veiled  throng, 

Round  tiie  Father's  heavenly  throne, 
Swells  the  everlasting  song: 

Glory  be  to  God  alone! 
Round  Immanuel's  cross  of  pain 

Mortal  men,  in  tribes  unknown, 
Sing  to  Him  who  once  was  slain: 
Glory  be  to  God  alone! 

Blend,  ye  raptured  songs,  in  one; 

Men  redeemed,  your  Father  own; 
Angels,  worship  ye  the  Son: 

Glory  be  to  God  alone! 
Spirit,  'lis  within  Thy  light, 

Streaming  far  from  cross  and  thronev 
Earth  and  heaven  their  songs  unite: 
Glory  be  to  God  alone! 


80  TO  THE   TRINITY — OUR    NATION'S    GOD. 

TO  THE  TRINITY. 

Eternal  Father,  when  to  Thee 

Beyond  all  worlds  by  faith  I  soar, 

Before  Thy  boundless  majesty 
I  stand  in  silence  and  adore. 

But  Saviour,  Thou  art  by  my  side; 

Thy  voice  I  hear,  Thy  face  I  see; 
Thou  art  my  friend,  my  daily  guide, 

God  over  all,  yet  God  with  me. 

And  Thou,  Great  Spirit,  in  my  heart 
Dost  make  Thy  temple  day  by  day. 

The  Holy  Ghost  of  God  Thou  art, 
Yet  dwellest  in  this  house  of  clay. 

Blest  Trinity,  in  whom  alone 
All  things  created,  move  or  rest, 

High  in  the  heavens  Thou  hast  Thy  throne; 
Thou  hast  Thv  throne  within  my  breast. 


OUR  NATION'S  GOD. 

God  of  our  fathers,  loud  to  Thy  praise 
All  our  sweet  Sabbaths  thankfully  sing. 

Worshiping  millions  throng  Thy  glad  ways; 
Lo!  'tis  a  nation  owns  Thee  its  King. 

Grieved  for  their  altars  thrown  to  the  ground, 
Forth  sailed  the  pilgrims,  trusting  Thy  grace- 


BY   A    rHOUSAND  WAYS  Wl    COME.  ll 

Pilgrims  and  prophets! — seekers  that  found 
Room  for  their  altars,  room  for  their  race. 

Stronger  than  tempests  bursting  in  wrath, 
Kinder  than  zephyrs  breathed  over  the  sea, 

Councils  eternal  ordered  their  path, 

Cave  them  an  empire;  bade  them  be  free! 

Pealed  from  the  ocean,  long  as  it  rolls, 
Borne  on  our  breezes,  sown  in  the  sod, 

Chorused  in  anthems,  throned  in  our  souls, 
Rule  us  and  save  us,  Name  of  our  God! 

God  speed  our  white  sails,  far  as  they  fly! 

God  keep  our  banner  grandly  unfurled! — 
Flag-staff  and  mast-head  flashing  on  high: 

"  Christ  and  our  Country !  Christ  for  the  World !" 


BY  A  THOUSAND  WAYS  WE  COME. 

Sung  at  the  farewell  meeting  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance,  at  the  Academy  of  Music, 
New  York,  on  Sunday  evening,  Oct.  12,  1873. 

By  a  thousand  ways  we  come; 

A  thousand  ways  we  go. 
These  in  India  have  their  home, 

And  these  near  Alpine  snow. 
Islanders  of  distant  seas, 

Dwellers  on  the  Western  main, 
Men  of  Britain  and  of  Greece, 

Of  China  and  of  Spain — 


82  BY    A    THOUSAND    WAYS    WE    COME. 

We  are  many;  we  are  one; 

For,  by  one  Spirit  led, 
All  our  paths  together  run, 

Though  o'er  the  earth  they  spread. 
Straight  to  Christ  they  lead  for  light, 

Straight  to  Christ  for  sin  forgiven; 
Straight  behind  Him  through  the  fight 

Then,  with  Him,  straight  to  heaven. 

Merge  we  then  our  separate  speech, 

To  form  a  common  tongue. 
Cease,  ye  discords,  while  we  reach 

A  universal  song. 
"  Jesus"  be  the  name  we  sing! 

Help  us,  Spirit  of  the  Lord, 
And  the  utmost  lands  shall  ring, 

With  that  adored  word. 

Hark,  with  shouts,  the  saints  on  high 

The  King  of   Glory  crown. 
Roll  apart,  O  solid  sky, 

And  pour  the  anthem  down. 
"Hallelujah!"     Say,  ye  men, 

Is  it  heaven  or  earth  that  sings? 
Shout  the  chorus  back  again; 

"Our  Christ  is  King  of  Kings." 


GOD  S  l'l   in. 

GOD'S   PLAN 

Oh  God,  before  Thy  sovereign  mind, 

That  moulds  creation  as  it  wills, 
My  briefest  fancy  stands  defined 

Clear  as  the  mighty  moveless  hills. 

From  Thee  I  am,  to  Thee  I  tend; 

About  all  paths  my  feet  have  trod, 
About  my  footsteps  to  the  end, 

Still  lies  the  circling  plan  of  God. 

In  Thee,  so  near  on  every  side, 

In  Thee, — a  life  that  sprang  from  Thee — 
Distinct  but  intimate  I  hide, 

O  sovereign,  sole  sufficiency! 

I  know  not  how  my  flitting  thought 
And  wayward  will  fullfil  Thy  plan. 

1  only  know  that  I  am  naught, 

Yet  feel  the  pulse  that  makes  me  man. 

Like  the  swift  dance  of  whispering  leaves 
Thought,  purpose,  joy  within  me  play, 

Thy  breath  the  mazy  pageant  weaves, 
Thy  goodness  gilds  it  like  the  day, 

Yet  darkness  veils  Thee  round  about. 

Lost  in  the  mystery  of  my  guilt, 
In  vain  I  search  to  find  Thee  out; 

Thou  shinest  to  me  as  thou  wilt. 


84  THE  TRINITY, 

Pavilioned  in  eternity 

Thou  rear'st  the  fabric  of  our  days. 
Time's  crested  ages,  lit  from  Thee, 

Slow  syllable  Thy  boundless  praise. 

Oh  dreadful  greatness,  hid  afar! 

Oh  tender  love,  that  art  so  nigh! 
From  Thy  still  depths,  past  sun  and  star, 

I  turn,  on  Jesus'  breast  to  lie. 

Oh  God,  eternal  be  Thy  throne! 

Close-girded  with  Thy  loving  might, 
I  climb  by  fastnesses  unknown, 

To  stand  in  Thy  eternal  light. 


THE  TRINITY. 

Who  knows  Thy  boundless  might? 
Who  can  Thy  praise  recite, 

Father  adored? 
All  worlds  Thy  temp'ies  be; 
All  creatures  cry  to  Thee; 
Glory  and  majesty 

Are  Thine,  Oh  Lord. 

Then  can  our  mortal  hymn 
Through  choirs  of  seraphim 
To  Thee  ascend? 


SA>  U  'Ik   AND  5INN1  R. 

Plead  for  us,  Christ  our  King, 
"1'is  in    Thy  name  we  sing, 
Thine  all   the  worth  we  bring, 
our  and   Friend. 

Lo!  while  our  Lord  we  own. 
Swift  comes  His  blessing  down, 

Bought  with  His  blood. 
Spirit  of  Christ   the  Son, 
Earnest  of  heaven  begun, 
Seal  us  Thou  Holy  One, 

The  sons  of  God. 

All  gracious  Trinity, 
We  mortals  raise  to  Thee 

Our  thankful  songs. 
Bring  us  to  see  Thy  face, 
Show  us  Thy  boundless  grace, 
And  tune  to  endless  praise 

Our  raptured   tongues. 


SAVIOUR  AND  SINNER. 

It  was  no  love  of  mine,  dear  Lord, 
That  won  Thy  love  for  me. 

On  me  were  Thy  compassions  poured 
From  the  accursed  tree. 


86  SECURITY. 


And  now  I  hold  Thee  by  no  bands 

Of  saintly  prayer  or  deed. 
I  hold  Thee  with  my  trembling  hands, 

These  hands  of  guilt  and  need. 

Saviour  and  sinner,  we  have  met, 

And  meeting  will  not  part. 
The  blood  that  bought  me  claims  me  yet; 

Christ  has  me  in   His  heart. 

So  pure,  though  vile,  and  rich,  though  poor, 

I  have  my  all  in  Thee — 
Beloved  and  loving,  pledged,  secure 

To  all  eternity. 


SECURITY. 

Too  long  I've  strained  my  dim  and  aching  sight 
Against  the  future's  unsubstantial  gloom. 
I  cannot  make  the  shapeless  void  assume 

A  certain  form  of  sorrow  or  delight. 

Frown  on,  thou  deep,  impenetrable  night, 
Wrap  me  in  darkness  like  a  mighty  tomb. 

Thou  canst  not  harm  me  till  Cod's  word  of  doom 
Shall  call  thy  viewless  terrors  into  light. 
That  word  has  blessed  me,  and  I'll  sit  secure, 


DAILY  TRUST.  87 

Nor  shake  to  see  the  threatening  shapes  come  nigh. 

Stronger  than  they,  I  shall  their  rage  endure, 
Or  smile  to  see  them  lay  their  terrors  by. 
So  while  I  speak,  the  lifting  gloom  is  fled, 

And  circling  angels  hover  o'er  my  head. 


DAILY   TRUST. 

Jesus,  one  word  from  Thee 
Fills  my  sad  soul  with  peace. 

My  griefs  are  like  a  tossing  sea; 
They  hear  Thy  voice  and  cease. 

Soon  as  Thy  pitying  face 

Shone  through  my  stormy  fears, 

The  storm  swept  by,  nor  left  a  trace, 
Save  the  sweet  dew  of  tears. 

And  when  Thou  call'st  me,  Lord, 
Where  thickest  dangers  be, 

Even  the  waves  a  path  afford; 
I  walk  the  waves  with  Thee. 

With  Thee  within  my  bark 

I'll  dare  death's  threatening  tide; 

Nor  count  the  passage  strange  or  dark 
With  Jesus  by  my  side. 


88  I   SHALL   NOT    WANT. 

Dear  Lord,  Thy  faithful  grace 
I  know  and  I  adore; 

What  shall  it  be  to  see  Thy  face 
In  heaven,  forevermore! 


I  SHALL  NOT  WANT. 

Since  Thou  dear  Lord,  art  Shepherd  of  Thy  sheep, 

I  shall  not  want. 
My  straying  soul  Thou  dost  restore  and  keep: 

I  shall  not  want. 
Yea,  though  I  walk  where  thickest  dangers  be, 
How  shall  I  want  or  fear?  Thou   leadest  me. 

Through  many  foes  my  daily  paths  I  tread; 

Yet  shall  not  want. 
Full  in  their  sight  Thou  dost  my  table  spread: 

I  shall  not  want. 
The  board  is  Thine,  I  lean  on  Thee,  and  sup 
With  head  anointed  and  with  brimming  cup. 

But  I  shall  sit  beside  another  board, 

I  shall  not  want. 
Thy  Father's  house  has  room  for  me,  dear  Lord;. 

I  shall  not  want. 
My  place  prepared,  awaits  me  at  Thy  side: 
I  shall  be  like  Thee,  and  be  satisfied. 


SLEEP.  89 

SLEEP. 

Beneath  Thine  eye, 

That  slumbereth  not  nor  sleepeth, 

Thankful  and  safe,  my  weary  eyes  I  close. 
Secure  I  lie, 

While  soothing  darkness  steepeth 
My  sense  and  trusting-  soul  in  sweet  repose. 

The  night  is  Thine! 

Its  temple-walls  enclose  me. 
My  midnight  pillow,  moveless,    mute  and  dim 
It  is  Thy  shrine! 

My  heart  in  slumber  knows  Thee. 
Its  silent  pulses  are  its  altar-hymn. 

From  toil  to  rest, 

From  rest  to  toil  returning — 
Each  glad  vibration  brings  me  still  to  Thee 
Thy  sheltering  breast 

I  seek  with  nightly   yearning: 
Waking,  I  hold  thy  hand.      Thou  leadest  me. 

But  dearer  grows 

My  pillow  and  my  keeper. 
Why  should  the  toil-worn  steps  go  laboring  on? 
The  night  must  close, 

The  darkening  way  grows  steeper. 
ThouTt  keep  my  pillow,  when  my  day  is  done. 


90  SLEEP. 

Where  stand  in   light 

Thy  ransomed  without  number, 
No  surge  of  darkness  lifts  its  leaden  spray. 
Here,  toil  and  night- 
Brief  night  and  fleeting  slumber: 
They  pass  together;  then,  eternal  day! 


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